Déjà True
by PinkElephant5
Summary: When Henry treats her skinned knee, Jo suddenly remembers a moment when she was almost five and he was…exactly the same. Two-shot companion to Vanishing Point, but also stands alone. Post-finale.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello, gentle readers! This one-shot-that-grew-into-a-two-shot builds on my earlier story, Vanishing Point, but it stands alone if you squint sideways. FINALE SPOILERS, but only the final scene. Natch. ;)

Here's hoping Forever finds a new on-air home. If not, at least we can keep Henry and Co. alive with fanfic!

* * *

"Henry, don't fuss. I'm fine— _ow_!" Jo winced as she put weight on her left leg.

"Yes, you sound fine," he replied dryly. "Now be a good patient and come sit down." He supported his injured partner around the waist and led her, limping, from the elevator to an empty exam table. It was late, and the morgue was nearly deserted.

Jo grudgingly obliged and hoisted herself up on the polished metal surface. The knee of her left pant leg was ragged and torn, exposing the equally ragged and torn skin beneath.

She tried to hide the pain that shot across her face when she bent her knee, but Henry's sharp gaze caught it. He gathered a handful of supplies from nearby cabinets and pulled up a chair in front of her, then he carefully maneuvered her leg so that her foot was resting on the front edge of his chair and her knee was at his eye level. Hooking two index fingers into the ripped fabric he said, "My apologies, Jo, but there's no saving these." With an efficient tug, he ripped the hole wider to allow him access to the wound.

"It's only a skinned knee," she insisted. "I don't need a doctor—and I _hope_ I don't need a medical examiner."

He ignored her protests and gently probed the edges of the raw, bleeding skin as well as the surrounding bone and tissue. "I'll be the judge of that. How did you manage to ruin your favorite trousers?"

"How did you know these are my fav—never mind, of course you know." She rolled her eyes a little, but one corner of her mouth twitched upward. "I was in pursuit of a suspect. Hanson was circling around to cut him off, but it turns out the guy had an accomplice. The second guy came flying out of an alley and shoulder-checked me as I passed—sent me skidding across the pavement."

Henry looked up from his examination in mild surprise. "They escaped?"

"No, we got 'em," she said with satisfaction. "At least my favorite pants didn't die in vain. We're leaving Wayne Gretzky and friend in holding overnight to ponder how 'Assaulting a police officer' will look on their rap sheets."

Henry looked back at her knee. "Well, Detective, you'll be happy to know that you won't officially become my patient tonight. Your wound appears to be non-lethal."

"That's a relief," she answered sarcastically.

"It's a deep abrasion, and you'll have quite a bruise to go with it, but no serious damage."

"See? I told you." She started to edge off the table, but Henry braced his hands around her shin to halt her.

"Lethal or not, I am still going to clean you up. Stay put." She huffed impatiently but didn't move. With gauze and mild astringent, he wiped away the trails of half-dried blood running down her leg. When the surrounding skin was clean, he began to gently dab at the raw patch itself, pausing occasionally to deftly remove a bit of gravel or fabric with tweezers.

While the astringent bit at her leg, Jo felt an unexpected twinge in her gut at seeing his attention to detail aimed at caring for her. She was also glad that in her rush to get ready this morning, she had taken the time to shave. She knew that was vain and trivial, but there it was.

"You know, considering that your usual clientele couldn't care less, you have a very gentle touch," she observed.

Henry glanced around, but they were alone. "Well, prior to my recent career change, I did treat living patients for over 180 years."

"Wow. I hadn't thought of it like that." She lapsed into thoughtful silence, and Henry continued his ministrations.

It had only been a few months since she had shown up on his doorstep with a watch and a photograph, and between her insistence and Abe's encouragement, Henry had finally told her the truth. The conversation that followed had been the most incredible one of her life, in two senses of the word: it was extraordinary, and it defied belief. It hadn't been easy for either of them, but the strangest part of all was that she _did_ believe him—every word, without doubt. His claims should have sounded ludicrous, but instead they snapped everything into focus. Henry Morgan finally made sense to her. At least, he was starting to.

For the sake of trust and their friendship moving forward, he told her that his past was now an open book to her; she could ask him anything. Jo appreciated the offer, even if she had her doubts that a person as private as Henry could simply flip a switch and share all his secrets. But even if he was willing to do it, where in the world should she start? He had lived—was still living—an impossible life, and she was only starting to realize what questions needed asking. Barely a day went by since "the big reveal" without another little revelation, another piece uncovered of the puzzle that was her partner, a man who was 236 years old. And immortal. And died a lot.

This was one of those mini-revelation moments for her. "Right now I can't imagine being anything but a cop," she said, "but the same career for nearly 200 years? What is that like?"

Henry cocked his head in thought before answering. "I've always considered it more of a vocation. A calling, if you will. It's part of who I am." He finished applying antibacterial cream and covered the injury with an adhesive gauze pad. "I've run from it a few times, but I always end up back here—uncovering the secrets that bodies keep, whether living or dead."

Jo had a sudden image of herself laid bare on this table—not dead, but completely exposed inside and out to Henry's keen understanding. She squirmed a little at the uncomfortable thought and banished it to the corner of her mind. He may have promised her an open book, but she had not promised him the same. Not all at once, anyway. She needed to take things more slowly, reveal herself bit by bit. She did concede—to herself only—that the thought of lying naked in front of Henry might be making her squirm for different reasons as well, but she wasn't ready to think about those yet.

He finally looked up and smiled as he gave the bandage a final check, running both hands with gentle pressure down the sides of her leg. She decided that it must be the raw nerve endings on her wound that were making her hyper-aware of that soft touch of his. _Right._ He patted her shin in a releasing gesture. "All right, Detective. You are cleared for duty."

She gingerly touched his handiwork. "Thanks for fixing up my knee."

He gave a little nod that she now recognized as genuine, old-fashioned gentleman's manners. "Happy to be of service."

 _Happy to be of service._

Jo froze. He was waiting for her to stand up now, but she didn't. Trapped by their relative positions, he couldn't move either. He could only watch with curiosity as a strange expression flashed across her face and froze her mouth half-open.

She had lived this moment before. Her knee, Henry's first aid, and now the exact phrases they had just exchanged—they had shaken loose a memory. One more Henry revelation had just locked into place with a mental _click._ She couldn't believe it had taken her this long to see it.

 _Happy to be of service, George._

Their introduction last year was not the first time she had met Henry Morgan. Not by a long shot.

* * *

 **New York City**

 **Summer 1985**

As she ran the two blocks from the alley back to her apartment, the skin on her knees stretching and bending oddly under the adhesive tape, Jo didn't look back once. She was very proud of that. She wanted to look back; she wanted to stop, turn her head, and see if the doctor with the fancy voice and the fancy watch was real, or if she had just imagined him. That was silly—of course he was real. She only had to look down at the bandages on her knees to know that. Imaginary doctors didn't use real bandages. However, she had decided to be brave now, and with the fierce resolution unique to almost-five-year-olds, she didn't look back.

She climbed the three flights to her apartment with slow, deliberate steps. The man in the alley may have convinced her that it was time to go home and face her worried father, and worse, her stupid twelve-year-old brother, but she didn't have to like it.

 _I imagine you hurt your knees in a fight with a dragon, so I'd better call you George. You may call me Henry._

What a strange man he was. Grown-ups never treated her like she was one of them. They didn't give her choices, like going home or staying. They definitely never talked about dragons. She suspected that Henry might say just about any crazy thing like it was true—and she might believe him.

She arrived at her front door and paused before turning the knob. Crazy or not, he _had_ helped her. Jo knew how this worked; Papa used to read her fairy tales at bedtime before she had insisted he switch to Nancy Drew. Did saving her make Henry a prince? A knight? A wizard? Some kind of hero, she was pretty sure. But he had said _she_ was the dragon-slayer. Could a story have two heroes?

* * *

"Jo? Are you all right?"

Henry's question brought her back to the present, and she blinked down at him. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry." She dropped her foot and stood up, freeing him from the chair. She added, "I was just having a little déjà vu moment." She observed his face carefully for reaction.

Henry stood as well and slipped into what Jo called 'professor mode' as he tidied his supplies. "Freud believed that déjà vu happens when a person is spontaneously reminded of an unconscious fantasy."

Jo crossed her arms and gave him a skeptical look. "You're saying that I fantasize about 18th century men picking gravel out of my knee?"

He shrugged and said, "It's only a theory." After a moment his deadpan tease was betrayed by a quirked eyebrow and a private lopsided smile, and Jo thought that this was starting to feel less like teasing and more like…something else.

She mentally shook it off. Never mind about that. The point for now was that nothing in his response sounded forced or fake. Even if she hadn't known his secret before he told her, she'd always known he was hiding _something,_ because Henry suffered from the honest man's chronic weakness: he was a bad liar. Right now, that meant that he honestly didn't remember meeting her younger self. At least, he didn't realize it had been her.

Jo had a sudden, wicked idea. She willfully relaxed her voice into a casual shape and said, "You know, Henry, I'm having dinner with my family tomorrow night, and they've been bugging me for months about meeting my new partner. How about you come with me?"

This would be fun. Good payback always was.

* * *

 _Conclusion posted soon! Feedback always welcome._


	2. Chapter 2

_New York City_

 _Summer 1985_

"What do you mean, a doctor in the alley patched you up?" Her father stood before her in their small living room, hands on hips, eyes narrowed suspiciously at the bandages on her knees. "Doctors don't work in alleys."

"The only bastards workin' in alleys around here are dealers and perverts."

"Tonio!" Papa snapped over one shoulder. "Watch your mouth around your sister."

"What? It's true!" Tonio waited until their father turned away before throwing Jo a smirk of brotherly glee at seeing her in the hot seat instead of him. He was relieved that she was back and safe, but _she_ didn't need to know that.

Her father dropped to one knee and looked her in the eye. "Jo, _cariño_ , tell me what happened."

"I already did! Tonio pushed me and made me fall on the sidewalk," she returned her brother's smirk with a glare, "then I ran away, then Henry called me George and fixed my knees."

"Henry? This bas— this "doctor" told you to call him _Henry_?" Papa was acting calm, but Jo could tell he wasn't. He pressed on. "Then what happened?"

"He showed me his watch. It was really old. I even got to touch it."

" _Madre de dios._ " Jo was surprised to see the squiggly line on papa's forehead appear. The squiggle only showed up when he was _really_ mad, like the time Tonio drank half the bottle on the high shelf, or whenever the Mets lost to the Yankees. "Did that sicko touch you?"

She answered with a shrug. "Yes." The answer seemed obvious to her, but Papa's lips turned thin and white, and he was staring past her with a scary look on his face, so Jo decided she should elaborate. "He touched my knees when he cleaned them. Then he said I should go home."

Her father exhaled and relaxed somewhat. He silenced Tonio's snigger with a laser glare, then looked back at his daughter and took her by the shoulders. "Jo, promise me that if you ever see that guy—"

"Henry," Jo reminded him, then frowned. "Or maybe Dr. Henry."

"Dr. Pervy, more like," Tonio added, and cackled at his own cleverness.

Papa ignored them both and went on. "If you ever see that guy again, you turn around and run the other way."

Jo's little brow creased in confusion. "But he helped me."

His grip on her shoulders tightened. "Promise me, Josephine! Maybe he helped you today, but trust me, that doctor is trouble."

Jo sighed. She knew that once her father used her despised full name, it was all over. "Okay, I promise." He seemed satisfied with that and moved on to chewing out Tonio for pushing a little girl.

She didn't really understand why Papa made her promise, but she wasn't upset. Even though she didn't usually believe this sort of thing, Jo reluctantly admitted that Henry might be a tiny bit magical. Her promise wouldn't matter either way, because he wouldn't bother to visit her ordinary, un-magical block again.

* * *

 _New York City_

 _Present Day_

Jo pulled the car over to the curb and parked in front of a decent but unremarkable apartment building. "Here we are."

"Indeed." Henry glanced over at Jo, down at the bottle of wine in his hands, then uncertainly back at Jo.

"Henry, stop twitching," she admonished. "This is not 'meet the parents on prom night.' Why are you so nervous?"

He smiled a little sheepishly. "It's not nerves, exactly. I am looking forward to meeting your family, and I'm honored that you invited me…"

"But?" she prompted.

"…but I'm curious. Why now?"

She looked through the front windshield for a moment, then responded without turning. "Where were you in 1985?"

Henry blinked in surprise at the apparent change of topic but answered, "Here in New York. Abigail was gone, Abe and Maureen were married—the first time— and I was working in a clinic. Not far from here, actually. Why do you ask?"

"One of my earliest clear memories is from 1985," she said. "I was not quite five years old, and I had already decided I was too grown-up to believe in fairy tales. The world obviously didn't run on magic and happily ever afters—not the world I saw. I'm not saying that my childhood was some awful place, I just didn't see the point of wishing for fantasyland instead." Henry smiled a little ruefully at the image of Jo's stark practicality at such a young age, but he didn't interrupt.

She continued. "Then one day that summer, I got in a fight with Tonio and skinned my knees, and I ran away from home—a whole two blocks away." She smiled at the memory. "A passing doctor found me hiding in an alley. He called me by a hero's name and said I'd been fighting dragons. He patched up my knees and sent me home, and I never saw him again. After that, I still preferred mysteries to fairy tales, but he did put a little magic back in my world."

She finally looked over to find Henry staring at her, open-mouthed and speechless. She could almost see the sparks firing behind his eyes, connecting old memories to newer ones and making sense of what she had just told him.

After a moment he found his voice. "George." It was half-question, half-statement.

She smiled. "In the flesh."

Henry's smile started small and bemused, then slowly grew to include his eyes and the rest of his face in a look of genuine pleasure she had rarely seen on him before. The effect was magnetic. In a voice laced with wonder he said, "You have no idea what a gift it is when life still surprises me after so long." After a moment he seemed to shake off the contemplative mood and, eyes twinkling again, he held out his hand. "It's a pleasure to see you again, George."

"Likewise," she answered, and took his hand to shake it. After a few shakes the bobbing motion slowed, and for the space of a few heartbeats they were simply clasping hands as they both took in this new twist in their story together. _There it is again_ , she thought. _That tiny bit of magic, right where I left it_.

But enough fairy tales: it was time for the real fun.

"By the way," she said in a suspiciously casual voice, "to this day my father still thinks "Dr. Henry" was some kind of pedophiliac weirdo. You're kind of a family legend. They don't know it was you, obviously, but once Tonio hears your first name, he'll probably call you Dr. Pervy anyway. You're not the only one who hasn't aged since 1985."

At some point during her speech his hand had stopped moving altogether and started gripping hers in mild alarm. She gave him a wicked grin that left him with no doubt that she had planned this, and she would greatly enjoy watching him listen politely to very unflattering stories about himself all evening. She freed her hand and patted his leg in mock encouragement before opening her car door and stepping out. "C'mon, Henry—ready?"

He sighed, then mentally shrugged. At least he was meeting Jo's father now and not thirty years ago. Henry had been lynched before; he would prefer not to repeat it. Dinner he could handle. Anyway, she might be milking this for maximum entertainment value at his expense, but she was also revealing elements of herself in return—her childhood, her family. Henry would accept her double-edged offering with humor and good grace…and use the opportunity to gather ammunition from her family for future payback.

Armed for now with only good wine and his most charming manners, he adjusted his scarf and joined Jo in waiting on the front step. After a minute or two, a man with a compact, muscular build and his daughter's keen eyes opened the door and said without preamble, "Damn door buzzer's broken again. Good to see you, kid!" He pulled Jo in for a quick hug and teased, "I guess you finally got tired of deleting your old man's messages." His sharp eyes turned to the man standing next to his daughter, and he gave him an assessing once-over. His daughter hadn't mentioned how handsome her new partner was—which told him she had definitely noticed. "This must be the famous Dr. Morgan. Rodrigo Martinez." He held out his hand, and Henry shook it. Rodrigo's grip was friendly but firm, a subtle test as well as a challenge. Henry suspected that this wasn't as different from Jo's prom night scenario as she had claimed.

Her father continued. "We've been wanting to meet you forever, Doc."

Jo and Henry exchanged a brief glance. _So true._

Henry smiled and said, "The pleasure is all mine. And please—call me Henry."

THE END

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! As my high school band director used to ask, Questions? Comments? Snide remarks?

In case you're a timeline stickler like me, I realize that the Abigail reference doesn't jive with canon, but I wrote Vanishing Point before we knew when she left. I hit the right decade, anyway…

Looking to the future, I'm kicking around some potential story ideas, but it may be a little while before posting happens. I'm tempted to do a series of "season 1.5" mini-sodes. We'll see if the muses cooperate.

 _'Till next time…_


End file.
